Where The Wild Things Are
by CheveronChick
Summary: "They are wild e fury of winter and the kindness of summer shimmer within their feral eyes. They are grace itself, dancing and walking beneath theses tree's like it was there born right to do so." Gimli considers and appraises the elven companions with whom he walks through Greenwood with.


They are wild things.

The fury of winter and the kindness of summer shimmer within their feral eyes. They are grace itself, dancing and walking beneath theses tree's like it was there born right to do so. As it very well might be. Their voices are the morning glow of the sun and the bubbling promise of life of water running over rocks, their songs is the very thing the stars dance to night and the wind longs to carry away with it.

They are moving parts of the forest we make our way slowly through, as much a part of the landscape as every rock, stone, moss and leaf within it. A very key in the unwavering ways of nature, yet with tempers and moods swifter to change than the seasons or the tides.

As they walk their feet make no noise, as if the ground soaks up every ounce of proof of their presence as if it is the only thing that keeps its leaves green, and creatures happy. Hands brush gently against bark of every tree they are close enough to reach, greeting them, so I am told.

It is something I cannot image, talking to tree's. Yet as they pass beneath the canopy of leaves they seem to quake with excitement, and I can hear a low rumble in my ears as if the tree's themselves are purring.

I watch as the elf closest to me tilts her face into the wind, sampling the scents upon it like a cat. She see's me look upon her, yet I feel no embarrassment, like I would had I been caught peeking upon a Dwarven maiden.

Her eyes catch mine, and I find myself swimming in them. It is as if they are endless, every passing day or year she has seen is displayed there. Spiraling down into depths I can only guess at, deeper than even the great halls of Erebor. But not as if they were made of stone, but like if I had taken my axe to the largest tree in this forest and attempted to understand the rings held within it, and every secret that came with it.

Then she grins and laughs at me, and the sound seems to fill every empty space the forest might ever have. The others laugh with her, including the blond elf whom I have travelled here with. They continue to laugh as if some joke had been told though no words were spoken, they laugh as if they are one. Somehow all connected to one another and needing no direction.

I am reminded of a school of fish, moving seamlessly together through the water. Never bumping or jostling one another, nor fighting for space and leadership. They simply exist, breathtaking on their own. Yet indescribable together.

The she-elf holds her arm out towards me, her fist closed about something tightly. Without fully understanding why I extend my hand in return, and she drops a single Acorn into the palm of my hand. I look back up at her for a moment, confused, which only causes more laughter to bubble up from her tiny throat.

The others are laughing too, and I look at Legolas who has been walking equally close to me as he has been to the she-elf who gave me the Acorn. He grins at me, but says nothing. He doesn't need to, his eyes are very expressive.

They shine with pride and happiness, and I do not know of it simply because he is back beneath his tree's or because of the gesture. But I pocket the acorn nonetheless. Though I do not understand my own reasons for doing so.

My knowledge of elves is rudimentary at best; and what little I had known was mostly proven wrong already by the many days I had spent journeying with Legolas. Yet, I have only been with his kin for barley hours and it seemed to already be conflicting with what I had just learned.

Somewhere between this morning and now they have neglected the tongue they usually speak with, and have instead chosen to use the common tongue. It was an unspoken agreement, but I am thankful for it nonetheless. Especially those few times they speak directly to me.

The she-elf looks back at me as my hand closes about the Acorn in my pocket to ensure it doesn't tumble from its place, her eyes sparkle as if she is fully aware of what I am doing. Then, looking forward once more she reaches her hand backwards towards Legolas and he seamlessly tangles his fingers with hers , and she speaks to me on behalf of their forest.

"A gift, for the short friend of our homeland"

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**I hope you enjoyed the story, all reviews are most welcome even if you just want to tell me about the nocturnal activates of your pet goldfish. I really do love to hear from everybody. **


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